"Owls are not what they seem"

TUESDAY

They all take me
in little portions and big gulps.
The fights for attention
end up
in loud noises and broken bones –
mine.
Greedy hands and
sugar coated sentences
melt right in my mouth
and all I want to do
is spit them all out
and forget the taste
of attraction
they have for me.
I envy
happy lives of others
and secure doors to one’s future.
It smells like jealousy
and
tastes like self-pity
and thats the worst
they could have done to me.

Resentment.

Fridays
are the least romantic days of the week,
but Tuesdays are the best for tears,
and thats all I’m gonna do today –
cry.

In the center of the earth I will push aside
the emeralds so that I can see you—
you like an amanuensis, with a pen
of water, copying the green sprigs of plants.
What a world! What deep parsley!
What a ship sailing through the sweetness!
And you, maybe—and me, maybe—a topaz.
There’ll be no more dissensions in the bells.

There won’t be anything but all the fresh air,
apples carried on the wind,
the succulent book in the woods:

and there where the carnations breathe, we will begin
to make ourselves a clothing, something to last
through the eternity of a victorious kiss.
-Pablo Neruda

Yes Rosh, Neruda is extraordinary, he manage to pull off a romantic driveling of words, so you get chills down your spine and warmth in your heart.
🙂

Yet, please don’t cry little owl!
My spirit scream in urge to snatch your sorrow and run away with it. Jumping from ice floe to ice floe, scorch the skin of my feet by the burning coal of Gehenna, all the way to the edge of the world. There I drop it down the drain and conjure, warm cups of tea, sweet treats and a prince whose arms, gently hold you near. And for every tear that you exchange for a smile, I give you a wish and a lovely life.